Metal Gear Redux
by Chitin Titan
Summary: A weird summary of the events of Metal Gear Solid 2. Obviously, there are spoilers. Not so obviously, there is strange, slightly out of character dialogue.



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    Disclaimer: Konami owns all rights to Metal Gear Solid 2. I do not stake any legal
    claim on the characters, plotline, or concept presented therein.
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    GEORGE WASHINGTON BRIDGE
    Snake:I'll just recklessly bungee jump onto this tanker. What an exciting and completely
    unrealistic introduction to an espionage simulation game!
    TANKER, DECK
    *** Snake lands hard and breaks his Stealth camouflage.
    Snake:Otacon, I'm at the "sneak point," by which I mean that my entrance has created a
    ridiculous amount of noise and cheap lighting effects. Perhaps my tribute to the
    Terminator series was inappropriate here.
    Otacon:We must have overused the Stealth, which I am intimately familiar with and could
    easily have repaired or replaced. Oh well, it would have just lowered your ranking
    for the Tanker Section anyway. If that happened, you wouldn't be able to receive
    the most exalted clever animal names.
    *** A chopper passes over the deck.
    Ocelot:Gwa ha ha! I'm casually using binoculars with one hand while simultaneously twirling
    a revolver with the other! I'm either a recurring bad guy or a typical New York
    motorist.
    Otacon:Snake, I'm new at this sort of thing, so I'll begin your mission briefing by
    summarizing the events of the past 2 years of our lives.
    Snake:Cut to the chase, dork.
    Otacon:Given your strange penchant for working for shadowy organizations named using whimsical
    and unexplained acronyms, you and I are collectively known as PHILANTHROPY. As the
    benevolent connotations of the name imply, we aren't terrorists!!!!!! To remind you of
    this fact, I have taken away all of your weapons except for this Nerf Peashooter. Enjoy!
    Snake:Thank you for your lackluster confidence in the restraint of the Legendary Mercenary.
    Since CODEC technology has not yet progressed to the point where I can remotely punch
    you in the face, I'll blindly follow your questionable advice.
    *** Terrorists appear, slaughter the Marines and hijack the ship.
    Otacon:Gee, maybe I should have given you a weapon that does something other than inject its
    targets with slow-acting Tylenol PM.
    Snake:There'll be plenty of time for stating the obvious later, in the latter three-fourths of
    the game. Right now, I'll take a picture of an old man who is obviously an important
    character.
    Otacon:Good eye, Snake! He doesn't resemble either Cannon Fodder Goon A, or the palette-swapped,
    yet otherwise identical Cannon Fodder Goon B!
    Snake:Run a global search using this single, blurry photograph, will you, buddy?
    Otacon:Sure, no problem. I'm sure there won't be many matches for a stereotypical Russian old
    dude wearing a Russian fur hat. Expect the results after the boss battle.
    *** Another chopper flies by.
    Snake:Kasatka KA-60. Like all soldiers of experience, I've learned to identify aircraft solely
    by sound, instead of turning my head slightly to verify. Neck rotation is for wussies!
    Oh, and FYI, Kasatka means "Killer Whale." These random Trivial Pursuit utterings will
    surely cement my badass-ness.
    Otacon: Wow, grandpa. Tell me more!
    Snake:Later. Right now, I've got a date with destiny.
    TANKER, OBSERVATION DECK
    Olga:Hello, sailor. I'm a nomad.
    Snake:Destiny could use a shave.
    Olga:Judging by your measly tranquilizer gun, combined with your partner's squeamish protests,
    I'll escape this battle completely unscathed. By sheer coincidence, by presence will be
    essential later on. In the meantime, leer at my semi-transparent shirt. Not bad, eh?
    Snake:I'm a nomad too.
    Olga:That has to be the most awkward one-liner in the history of action heroes. But hey, check
    out the cream filling in this knife!
    Snake:Super-slow motion bullet dodgery!
    Olga:Amazing! No one has ever dodged that shot before. Obviously, your overwhelming coolness
    can overcome such obstacles as old age, projectile physics, and Matrix movie licensing.
    Now let's trade gunfire across an invisible wall.
    Otacon:Snake, it appears that her youthful exuberance and single-mother pregnancy makes her
    largely immune to the effects of the tranquilizer. Hence, you'll probably need to shoot
    her roughly 20 times in the head area, like every videogame boss since the beginning of
    time. Nice to see how far we've come, isn't it?
    Snake:Fortunately, there's plenty of ammunition for my completely custom-made, uniquely modified
    weapon just lying around in the rain.
    Olga:I grew up on the battlefield, the unit is my family, and so on. Please keep in mind how
    important loyalty is to me, so any future back-stabbing on my part will seem very surprising.
    Snake:Fat chance. The only point of this fight is for me to obtain the only available weapon on
    the ship. You might as well be a glowing treasure chest with a sword painted on it.
    Olga:Glorified item boxes have feelings too, you know.
    *** Olga is defeated. A Cypher flies overhead.
    Snake:Cypher?!
    Otacon:Is that another Matrix rip-off or an obscure X-Men reference?
    Snake:Well, I could just destroy it now, if Olga hadn't thrown away every scrap of ammunition she
    possessed, using her last ounce of strength.
    Otacon:Don't worry, I'm sure this won't come back to haunt us. Speaking of impending horribleness,
    I have a sister named E.E. I'm sure that my unimaginative pet name for her guarantees the
    validity of this mission. Furthermore, I foresee that you will encounter an exciting business
    prospect under a crescent moon and your lucky lotto numbers are 17, 4, 21, 9, and 16.
    Snake:If I believed in omens, I would've left the bungee cord at home.
    TANKER, HOLDS
    Goon:Shalashaska, you surprised me. I mistook you for some OTHER old guy wielding Antique Roadshow
    items.
    Ocelot:You're the only grunt on this ship with a vocabulary extending past "Who's there" and "Intruder
    alert." Surely you must be a freak of nature and therefore must die.
    Goon:Oversized exclamation point!
    *** Elsewhere, Snake presses on.
    Snake:Hmm, 3 rooms of US Marines, none of which are patrolling, but are instead watching TV in
    their heart-covered boxer shorts. There's a joke about Americans in here somewhere.
    Otacon:Snake, stay focused on your mission: Take pictures of an anime-inspired mech from various angles.
    Then let Chibi Otacon make vague complaints about your photos and tell you to start over. Repeat
    until you realize this segment of gameplay is total crap.
    Snake:Kodak must have perfected anti-skepticism software, because anyone who believes our story based
    on a few pictures of a brown, plastic-looking robot with "Marines" stamped on it must have the IQ
    of a pez dispenser.
    Dolph:Through the magic of PS2's Emotion Engine, I can cycle through the same snippets of ominous
    dialogue, while appearing to be making a meaningful speech. I can also give out false alerts to
    promote calisthenics. So you see, we've succeeded in digitizing senility!
    Ocelot:I hope the tell-tale jangling of my cowboy spurs didn't interfere with your illusion of rhetoric,
    you mindless drone.
    Dolph:Wait, did I mention the fact that I have a daughter? I'm sure she'll surface in the plot sooner or
    later.
    Sergei:Fool, MY daughter has already presented herself as a point of interest! Die!
    Dolph:You're not going to sell our enormous, 3-story robot on the streets, are you?
    Sergei:Pay close attention, Mr. Bond. With Metal Gear, Mother Russia will rise again! My studies show
    that economic instability, political corruption, and tenuous international relations can all be
    remedied with LOTS AND LOTS Of indiscriminate killing.
    Ocelot:Russia, Schmussia. Eat lead!
    Sergei:Argh! How could the cutthroat who betrayed Liquid while betraying the US government turn around and
    betray me?
    Dolph:I'll die the same way I lived: spouting gibberish. La-li-lu-le-lo!
    Ocelot:I took the precaution of placing a metric ton of explosives in plain sight around the ship. Thank
    you for not disarming or detonating them. Love, Ocelot.
    *** The ship starts blowing up. Marines drown.
    Snake:Ocelot! You've got a magic energy shield and a Metal Gear. I have a tranquilizer gun. Let's rock.
    Ocelot:I'll just turn around and kill you... ack! Incredibly contrived... plot device... causing me to...
    lose concentration. On a completely unrelated note, I had decided to graft Liquids dead, frozen
    arm onto my body. Gurgh!
    Liquid's Arm:Snake! I won't bother trying to explain the biological processes going on here. Instead,
    the only thing to realize is that even in death, my exaggerated British accent lives on!
    Snake:Sorry, I'll still need the requisite pseudo-science explanation. Perhaps told through a long-winded
    cutscene?
    Liquid's Arm:You pathetic wretch. You'll never know the glory of residing within a diseased appendage
    surgically attached to the man who betrayed you. And on top of that, you weren't targeted
    by a deadly biological weapon like I was! Sucks for you!
    Snake:Damn! Hell! Other PG-13 forms of semi-profanity!
    *** Metal Gear RAY breaks out of the hold. More stuff blows up.
    Otacon:Ironically, the only time that I refuse to wail your name pathetically is when you're actually in
    danger. Instead, let's listen to some Muzak, shall we?
    Snake:Glug. Blip. Bloop.
    


End file.
